Death to Moby-Dick! 09/24/2008
Lord knows I love movies. Lord knows I love movies based on great novels, even ones that take enormous liberties with the original story—Peter Jackson and Viggo Mortenson's reimagining of Aragorn in Lord of the Rings as a tormented, reluctant hero is actually an improvement over Tolkien's more wooden conception of the character—or set the story in a completely different setting or era—for my money, Clueless is one of the best Jane Austen films, and I loved Ian McKellen's Fascist-era interpretation of Richard III. And lord knows I also love—way, way too much—big, dumb, over-the-top action-and-special-effects spectaculars. The first Matrix made me feel like I was fourteen years old again, and I mean that in a good way. Hey, when it first came out, I saw Point Break twice. In one week. So lord knows it's no surprise that I loved the latest movie by Russian director Timur Bekmambetov, Wanted, which was (in the manner of Point Break) simultaneously completely preposterous and enormously entertaining, and not just because it featured Angelina Jolie in high action figure mode. How can you not love a movie where an international secret society of super-assassins gets its instructions from (I'm not kidding) the Loom of Destiny, which works its magic in an abandoned factory on the west side of Chicago? So by some sort of transitive property, I ought to be looking forward to Bekmambetov's forthcoming film of Moby-Dick, right? Right?
In which I mostly write about books, movies, and TV. An all-purpose spoiler alert: Sometimes I will talk about these works on the assumption that the reader's already read or seen them, so if you haven't, be forewarned.
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